


The Inward Liberty of a Frozen Morning

by lysanatt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Phallophilia, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-10
Updated: 2007-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 16:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8808397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysanatt/pseuds/lysanatt
Summary: There are moments in life that stand out clearly; Severus' initiation as a Death Eater is one of them. The morning after he has taken the mark, he gets an unexpected visitor who makes the memory of allegiances and markings disappear in the past, leaving memories of the now hovering in Severus' mind.





	

**The Inward Liberty of a Frozen Morning**

There are moments in life where time itself stands still, frozen, pristine white, as if the clear, tingling frost of December has overtaken the now, leaving what was before and what is to come as either history or mystery.

This is such a morning. Everything is frozen, as if the atoms themselves are hesitating, anticipating. Everything is quiet, apart from the sound of ice and sunlight; a low sun slowly waking up and stretching its light; spider-fingered rays striding over the Manor's crumbling winter-yellow grass; the leftovers from the moment that was yesterday.

But the moment that is the now holds nothing but winter and pain; the cool air and the dull throbbing of marked, marred skin.

Severus turns slowly in the large bed, so much larger and bigger than his own narrow bed at home; an unreliable insect on wobbly legs, leaning reluctantly against a damp wall, trying to keep standing. This bed is different. As Severus' own bed clings to the hope of having a future that doesn't include ending up as twigs for a fire, this bed rests comfortably, standing on solid oak legs and centuries of offering peace and rest for countless Malfoys. Its posts reach for the elaborately painted and decorated ceiling like naked trees, sparsely clad in a sky of cream silk, as if the heavens were hung to dry between turned, lacquered pillars of dreams.

And it does seem like a dream; all this softness and the rustle of starched cotton; sheets and duvet as white as the winter-touched grass outside. Severus' hand rests against the coolness of the lavender-scented fabric; white against white, almost translucently showing off blue veins; blood pulsing under the icy surface. As he turns his hand, the roughness of the cotton grinds against his skin; a farewell kiss from his dreamless sleep.

He raises his eyes from the duvet to the window, looking out at the sky. The clear blue is clean, untouched; everything he isn't. The empty trees - sap and leaves gone - plead for the sun with skeleton fingers, and he feels like them for a moment: sapless and empty too. Slowly his eyes trail the light shadows of the sheets; slowly, a thin finger traces the ugly, ragged lines of yesterday's now, of the moment when the Dark Lord pressed his wand against Severus' pale innocence and forever tainted him with that moment; inerasable.

For a moment he watches atoms and time form a bond between yesterday and the now, between the now and the future. He has chosen, and the path he sees form in front of him is suddenly something else than what he hoped for. Maybe it is his one grave mistake; that he does not know what he wants or needs from the moment that is the future. That even if he now has the map of his life etched into his flesh; his allegiances and faith told in black lines tattooed upon his skin, he is not certain where to go, or whom to follow.

Somehow the silence of the frozen morning gives him the a respite, an island in time, to think things through. He hovers in the now, indecisive, until a soft knocking on the door rips him out of his deep thoughts.

'Severus?' Lucius' voice is cold and slow as a winter-sleepy bird. 'May I come in?'

Severus pulls the white and blue bedcover over his throbbing arm, the pain of the mark insistent in its unfamiliarity on his skin. He nods, and realises that Lucius of course can't see it. 'Yes,' he croaks, his voice still sleepy. 'Enter!'

Lucius slides into the room, to sit on the bedside. He is an avalanche of cool arrogance and arctic beauty, the sky reflecting in the cold grey of his eyes, making them striking contrast to the snow-white plain of his smooth skin. Lucius' pyjama bottoms ride low on slim hips, revealing a dusting of pale-golden hair just above the waistband. They seem to stay up only by magic, midnight dark blue silk, and Severus cannot take his eyes off Lucius, or off Lucius' hips or off the thin fabric which covers barely what Severus desires, what he only this moment realises he desires. And Lucius is close, far too close, making Severus' newly found desire flare brightly.

The golden moment hesitates (sun and skin and eyes so black they recall the night, even on a clear day, mingling in a perfect snapshot of the now), letting the world take a deep breath, as if waiting for something to happen, something that will move the now, move the mystery and the history and hopes and longings and just alter what was, and what is, and what is to come.

Time moves drowsily as Severus looks up and discovers the electricity in two pairs of eyes, locked; in the discovery of hunger and need in another person's eyes, hunger for him. Little specks of dust travel in the sunlight, hanging between them, the only movements is their dance in the ray of light.

'Does it hurt?' Lucius asks and takes Severus' hand; he gasps involuntarily, the touch surprises him, Lucius has never touched him like that before.

Severus can't help it. He watches Lucius with innocent eyes, though he knows his innocence is of yesterday; history. Not the physical innocence, he still has that, but the innocence of the mind, the one he has promised their Dark Lord, that is gone forever. But in the now he still owns the future, the mystery of what will happen when the now is gone and relieved by another now, another moment. In this _now_ , the feeling of Lucius' fingers on his arm somehow removes his ability to think properly, or to speak; there is but the sensation of cool touch on his skin, cool fingers upon his burning mark.

'A little,' Severus says, but Lucius' light touch still makes him wince when fingers brush over the swollen skin.

Lucius says nothing, only smiles and leans forward, a wave of golden-white hair shrouding his face as he presses his lips to Severus' arm; warm, red lips on the broken skin. Severus almost pulls his arm away in a mixture of shock and surprise and unstilled need: as if he cannot believe this, Lucius' closeness and the way he touches him.

Lucius looks up, a lock of slightly curling hair over his one eye, making him look less controlled and correct than he usually does. Then, ever so slowly, he pulls Severus closer, dragging the moment out, making it last for an eternity. Severus realises Lucius is letting him decide, leaving him time to think, leaving the final step to up to him to take.

Does he want what Lucius offers? Is he ready for this? However, what interests Severus the most is what is it Lucius is willing to give: with a young wife in his bed, with responsibilities to their lord and to his ancestors, is there anything left for Severus at all but a few moments of mutual pleasure?

But Severus doesn't stop Lucius from doing what he wants. He can't. The desire he sees in Lucius' eyes is so similar to the desire he feels that it is impossible to end what has begun already. Somehow the need that is both old and new in this frozen moment, and the promise of what is to come, makes him an easy target and a willing victim. If the sensation of Lucius' lips and tongue and hands is to be seen as a sacrifice, that is.

Lucius hesitates, waiting, his lips so close to Severus' that he can feel the warmth of Lucius' skin against his own.

'Severus,' Lucius whispers; a rough tenderness evident in that one word.

Then there are no more words between them, only kisses, and Severus really doesn't remember how it happened that Lucius got naked and under the duvet, but he doesn't mind the least, nor does he mind the way Lucius takes not only his mouth, but his body in possession, using hands and lips to set the borders of his dominion.

Severus' body is strung hard as Lucius uses experienced hands to make him moan, to make his body sing. With perfect touches (soft, then harder, setting a violent tune of need and lust and want: a rhythm of roaring blood) every inch of Severus' body is stroked, kissed, conquered.

'Oh, Merlin,'' Severus groans. 'What...'

Lucius rejects the question with more kisses, as if he doesn't know the answer to it himself. A determined hand presses up between Severus' legs, and he doesn't push it away, he feels as if he is ready; as if the only thing he needs is what Lucius offers, even if it is still not clear exactly what that offer contains. But in Lucius' arms he feels free, feels as if he doesn't need to think or even decide anything. As Lucius' finger slips inside his arse (something that makes Severus gasp loudly into Lucius' warm mouth and wet kisses) he breaks the kiss, throwing his head back, displaying a luxurious beauty: burning eyes and blushing cheeks in a face that no one would ever label as even remotely handsome. But Lucius doesn't seem to mind Severus' ugliness, on the contrary.

As Severus regains his composure (as Lucius pauses to let his young lover catch up with the inferno of sensations he suddenly is cast into) he looks up at Lucius, admiring the beauty of aristocracy and breeding, and sees nothing but a reflection of his own feelings. It is as if Lucius wants this too: wants everything Severus can offer. Lucius smiles softly and removes his finger, something that makes Severus whimper, dissatisfied.

'Turn,' Lucius demands, the demand is but a soft whisper and an arousing sensation of the hot breath on his ear. Severus obeys; letting soft sheets slide off his body as he moves to kneel on all four for Lucius Malfoy. 'Beautiful,' Lucius says, and Severus can hear in his voice he is not lying, there is the same odd tenderness, the same need and desire as before; Severus' thin, angular body is clearly not to Lucius' dislike and Severus has reason to gasp and moan once more, as Lucius spreads his cheeks and unexpectedly leans forward to press a kiss _there_ , something that feels so incredibly dirty and so incredibly good that Severus can't even manage to object.

He buries his head in the pillow as Lucius' tongue enters him, the soft, wet feeling so unlike anything Severus has ever felt before (even when he has played with himself, trying to reach the prostate).

Lucius hesitates and stops for a moment, a special moment, since he clearly tells Severus that he needs him: 'Don't hide,' he says. 'I want to hear you moan.'

And Severus does as Lucius asks. He lets go, since that is what Lucius wants, and cries out, groans, sighs. Every moment of pleasure they share is accompanied by the beautiful music of intense pleasure, of ecstasy. Severus is shaking, both from the sensations Lucius' lovemaking evoke, and from holding his orgasm back; almost impossible since Severus is both very young and very inexperienced. It seems as if Lucius senses that Severus is close to coming: he pauses and wraps a hand around Severus' cock at the root, making it impossible for Severus to do exactly that. After a while, Lucius makes Severus turn; without words he moves him, hovering between now and then, between orgasm and relaxation, between want and need.

Softly he directs Severus to lie on his back once more. This time they are not covered by sheets and duvets, and Lucius looks hungrily at Severus' erection. 'Perfect,' he says. 'Gods, Severus... it is...' Lucius leans forward and slides his lips over Severus' cock. Severus has never regarded it with any more interest than any other eighteen year old would, but the look Lucius sends him (and the marvellous cock between his legs) makes Severus wonder if it is just Lucius who thinks so, or if he had never recognised what a treasure he has been carrying between his long legs.

But any doubt is soon removed, because Lucius murmurs a spell, then straddles Severus. Lucius leans forward; his gorgeous hair once more tingling silken caresses over Severus' skin. His lips hover over Severus', as close as one moment is to the next, and Severus enjoys them all. He offers his mouth to Lucius, who hesitates. 'I want your cock inside me,' Lucius says. 'Would you like that?'

Severus whispers his accept into the kiss, and for a while they drown in the moment and the kisses. Almost drowsily they pull apart; the dark, brooding boy and the beautiful young man, before Lucius reaches behind himself, raising Severus' cock so he can sink down on it.

'I want to feel you fill me,' Lucius says, and helps Severus breach through the tightness of the muscles. 'You have the most wonderful cock,' Lucius groans, and every contraction of his face, every little sign of pleasure, show how much he enjoys being opened and filled by Severus. Slowly, and accompanied by deep breaths and sighs, Lucius finally has Severus' cock buried as deep inside him as humanly possible, and Severus is surprised that he hasn't yet come hard inside Lucius tightness. The feeling of the warm, narrow channel pulsing around his cock is fantastic, and for a moment, just before Lucius smiles and lets a hand slide over Severus' cheek, he wonders why he never considered this an option before. Then Lucius moves over him, raising himself to slide down Severus' cock once more, and the past and the future disappear; leaving only the liberty and the lust found in the present moment.

Together, they make time and space evaporate, together they chase the unexpected pleasure they have found: Severus' eyes closed as he comes inside another man for the first time in his life. For Lucius it is not the first time, but maybe the first time it means anything. His grey eyes are wide open as he watches the boy he has formed and schooled for this, for his initiation as a Death Eater, and it seems as if it comes as a bit of a surprise for Lucius that he wants Severus as more than just another member of their inner circle. Inadvertently he seems to have cultured and nurtured warm feelings between them as well. But Lucius' hunger isn't stilled, he wants more, wants it all; coming with his own hand working hard on his cock and with the incredible sensation of Severus' large cock thrusting up his arse (come already seeping over Severus' crotch) is not enough. Oh, Salazar, Lucius wants more.

Lucius comes too, milking his cock and letting semen pulse over Severus' thin chest and, as Lucius' loud moans subside, time and space once more roll over them; a tidal wave of reality, reminding them both of who and where they are, even if not of _why_.

Exactly that is Severus' first question as Lucius lies down next to him, pulling him into his arms. 'Why?' he asks. A simple question, a simple word. However, the answer might not be that short and clear.

'I wanted to,' Lucius says, as if Severus was in doubt. Lucius always does what he wants and gets it too. Even Severus.

'Fascinating,' Severus says, the tone almost sneering. The beautiful moment of now they shared seems to flutter away with the moment that was.

'I want you,' Lucius says calmly. 'Severus... can't we...' Lucius' eyes are soft and tell more than any words Lucius could have pronounced.

Severus nods. He suddenly knows what Lucius offers. Secret meetings, secret happiness. Only this is more than Severus ever thought he would have. Secret moments. Secret pieces of time, only for them. Moments taken out of the length of time and life they each have. And the inward liberty of this morning - their moment, their secret - wells over Severus and he will not deny Lucius the little specks of now and present they can find together.

He accepts Lucius' wish, sealing their moment with a kiss; the promise of love to come. In his mind the moment is frozen too; Lucius' happy smile a memory to cherish now and forever.


End file.
